Major Operations
by Kay Em2
Summary: A 'Prequel' to The Yalu Brick Road. What were Charles and Margaret doing at the 8063rd? NOT a CM story


_Disclaimer: The characters, alas, are not mine. They belong to Fox. But once I got the idea, I just had to write it down.  By the way, spelling is in English English (not American English), 'cos that's where I am and that's how I write. Constructive feedback and comments welcome! Thanks. _

**Major Operations**

**By Kay Em**

Charles whistled a snatch of Chopin's _Fantasie-Impromptu _as he strolled back to the Swamp from the showers. What a marvellous Thanksgiving Day this was turning out to be, he thought. With Pierce and Hunnicutt having been sent off to Battalion Aid the previous afternoon, and no casualties to deal with thanks to a lull in the fighting, he'd been able to spend the previous evening reading, and listening to his records, without interruption. He'd had a good night's sleep, a lie-in, and even a hot shower.

To top that off, rumour had it that Klinger had actually managed to secure some turkeys for Thanksgiving Dinner - so if the cook didn't do them too much damage, there might even be a halfway decent meal that evening.

Marvellous!

He stopped whistling when he entered the Swamp and found Klinger waiting there.

"Tell me you're here with my mail," he said, though he could see from the Corporal's face that he was not bearing good tidings.

"Sorry sir, the Colonel just got a call from the 8063rd, and he wants to see you in his office, pronto."

"I should have known the day was too perfect to last," said Charles, through gritted teeth, as he hurled his towel onto his chair and grabbed his fatigues. "Do you have any idea what this is about?" he asked, zipping his pants and pulling on his shirt.

"No sir." Klinger gave an apologetic shrug. "The Colonel was in my office when the call came through, so I couldn't listen in. All I got was his side of the conversation - you know, a lot of 'uh-huhs' and 'gotchas', and ending with an 'I'll send him right over.' Uh – I'm guessing that 'him' would probably be you, sir."

Charles finished lacing his boots and stood up, with a sigh. "I should have whistled _The Slaves Chorus_ it would have been more appropriate," he muttered, as he slammed out of the tent and crossed the compound. 

-

"Ah, good morning, Major, I see Klinger found you alright," said the Colonel, looking up from his desk as Charles entered the office, and indicating he should take a seat next to Margaret, who was already there.  

"Right where I should have been, Colonel," retorted Charles, sitting down, and acknowledging Margaret's presence with a polite, "Major."

"I'll get right to it," said Potter, "The 8063rd have an emergency case – a General with a heart problem, instead of the usual enemy-inflicted wounds, for a change. The chief surgeon over there reckons that there's a ventricular aneurism and he daren't go near it. But he's heard that _we_ have an _expert_." He looked at Charles. "That would be you."

"I guess it's off to the 8063rd then," said Charles, his resentment disappearing as his professionalism took over. "I assume Major Houlihan is here because..."

"I want her to go with you and assist," said Potter, nodding. "No sense having you work with someone you don't know, when you can work with someone who's familiar with the way you operate."

"Agreed," said Charles, getting to his feet, "Got any details on the patient, Colonel?"

"All here," said Potter, handing over a sheet of notes, "Hope you can read my writing."

Charles squinted at the scrawl, while the Colonel yelled for Klinger and instructed him to get a jeep ready for the majors.

"Already done, sir," said Klinger, smugly, "It's right outside."

"Have to start calling you 'Radar'," said Potter, dryly, as they all headed for the door. "Oh, and majors?"

"Sir?"

"Play nice. I'd like you both back here tomorrow, undamaged. Comprendi?"

"Of course, sir!"

"Comprendo, sir."

* * * * * 

As Charles braked the jeep to a halt in the middle of the unfamiliar MASH compound, a corporal, and a captain in a white coat rushed over.

"Major Winchester? I'm Captain Jim Adams, chief surgeon here. Am I glad to see you!"

"Thank you, Captain." Charles climbed out of the jeep and shook his hand, "How's the patient?"

"His condition's deteriorating," said the Captain, "I've already got him in Pre-op - if you hadn't have gotten here in time I was going to try tackling it myself." He grimaced. "Would've probably killed him, but I couldn't just stand by and watch him die."

"Well, he'll be fine now, doctor," said Margaret, favouring Adams with a broad smile, "I've seen Doctor Winchester perform this operation before, and the General couldn't be in better hands."

"Oh, doctor Adams, this is Major Houlihan, she'll be assisting me," said Charles.

"And this is our CO, Colonel Wheatley, and head nurse, Major Parker" said Adams, as an older man with a grey crewcut approached, together with a tall redhead.

Charles was close enough to Margaret to hear her mutter "oh no!" under her breath, and a moment later his own internal alarms went off as the redhead grabbed his hand and gave him what she presumably thought was an engaging smile.

"Doctor Winchester, I've heard so much about you," she gushed, as Charles involuntarily took a step back. "Margaret." She gave the 4077th's head nurse a frosty nod of acknowledgement, which Margaret returned - equally coolly, Charles noted. He'd have to find out more about that later on. 

For now, there was work to be done.

* * * * * 

The rest of the 8063rd medical staff were, it seemed, already gathered in OR, waiting to watch the operation and, much as he liked having an audience, Charles' heart sank when he heard one of the masked figures drawl: "Well tie me to a cross-eyed mule! Good to see yuh agin, Chuck!"

"It's 'Charles', Doctor Dupree, as I'm sure you recall," growled Charles, going to the far side of the operating table and looking down at his patient.

"How's his pressure?" he asked the anaesthetist.

"One hundred over seventy, doctor," came the response.

He nodded. Good enough. "Scalpel," he said.

As it was placed into his hand with a reassuringly familiar firmness, he focussed his concentration in on what he was doing, and began to teach the 8063rd about how to operate on a ventricular aneurism.

* * * * * 

"...and it's then just a simple matter of over-sewing the aneurism," he finished, suiting the action to the words and stepping back. "Close for me, doctor?" he suggested, looking across at Dupree.

"Be mah pleasure, Charlie. That was about the best demonstration o' nifty knife work ah ever did see," replied Dupree, managing to both annoy and flatter within the space of two sentences. 

"Have you done a lot of these operations, Doctor Winchester?"

There was something familiar about the voice asking the question, and when Charles glanced up he immediately recognised the pretty brown eyes twinkling at him above the mask. Lorraine!

He grinned at her, before remembering she couldn't see his smile behind his own mask. Now what the hell was her _sur_name?  Oh yes!

"Captain Anderson. How nice to see you again," he said, carefully. "I thought you were only on temporary assignment to the 8063rd?"

"So did I." 

"Ah," he said, hearing the resignation in her tone. "I sympathise. I was only supposed to be at the 4077th for forty-eight hours. But in answer to your question.... I've done around, oh, fifteen, sixteen of these. Of course, if I'd been back in Tokyo, or better still Mass. General where I trained, it would have been a lot more. Now – does anyone else have questions?"

There were more than a few, and by the time he'd finished, Charles was ready for another long shower, and said so as he went through to take off his scrubs.

"No problem at all, Major," said Wheatley, "Help yourself. And let me know if there's anything else you need. I've known the General for a long time – I hate to think what would have happened to him if you hadn't been around."

"Ah," said Charles, seizing his chance, "Well – I was just wondering, Colonel... if your VIP tent isn't being used...?"

"Say no more," said Wheatley, with a wave of his hand, "I'll have Stevens move your gear in right now. Least I can do."

"Thank you, sir," said Charles, with a heartfelt smile. At least now he wouldn't have to share a tent with that wretched Dupree!

"Soon as you're ready," continued the Colonel, "Come on over to the Mess Tent, we've got a real special dinner sorted out for Thanksgiving - and after that display, you deserve to be guest of honour!"

* * * * * 

"Hey, Margaret, want to see the photos I took in Tokyo?" said Lorraine, as the two of them threw their scrubs into the laundry bags.

"Love to," said Margaret, glad of an excuse to visit with her friend, instead of accompanying Judy Parker back to the head nurse's quarters. 

They crossed the compound to the nurses' tent, and Lorraine pulled an envelope of photographs from her footlocker while Margaret made herself comfortable on one of the bunks.

"Hey, I've seen these!" said Margaret, flicking through the pictures.

"Thought so," said Lorraine, grinning, "But old Parallel doesn't know that, does she?"

Margaret grinned back, laughing at Lorraine's use of Parker's unflattering nickname. "Surely you don't need to make excuses just to talk to an old friend?" she said.

Lorraine shrugged. "With Parker, I've learned not to take anything for granted," she said, "Especially as she's the reason I'm still here."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," said Margaret, "What happened?"

"Oh, Parker was assigned here right after 'Roy Rogers' and me got back from visiting with you at the 4077th," said Lorraine, "She turned everything upside down - duty rosters, assignments, training, the lot. And that included the length of my tour here. I've been putting in transfer requests to the Colonel since Doomsday, seems like, but Parker just keeps putting the blockers on. It's crazy, I mean, she and I never have got along, you'd think she'd be glad to see the back of me - but instead she just seems to take a delight in keeping me here."

"Want me to try talking to her?" Margaret offered, "Not that she's likely to take any notice - she doesn't like me either! But I could give it a try?"

"No - no thanks. I'll work it out myself, somehow," said Lorraine. "You could do me a different sort of favour though?"

"Of course, anything."

"Would you tell Charles I'd like to see him later?" said Lorraine, "I daren't go tell him myself - if Parker sees me talking to him, she'll change the duty roster and I'll find myself working the midnight shift tonight." She smiled. "She's probably got her sights set on him herself!"

"Reckon you're right there," smiled Margaret, "You should have seen her oozing all over him when he stepped out of the jeep!  And before you ask, no, I'm pretty sure he's not interested in pursuing _that_ option! In fact, the last time I saw him looking that terrified, we were in the middle of an artillery bombardment!"

Lorraine giggled. "So you'll tell him?"

"Sure I'll tell him," said Margaret, "I think you're crazy, mind you, but I'll tell him. What are friends for?"

* * * * * 

"Um, Colonel," said Charles, poking dubiously at the contents of the tray on the table in front of him, "What exactly is this?"

"Why that's our Thanksgiving Special, Major," said Wheatley, an unmistakeable note of pride creeping into his voice, "Glazed Spam."

"Glazed..."  Charles choked on the words, "...spam?"

"Well," put in Dupree, from his seat opposite the Colonel, "It was s'posed to be glazed _ham_ - but the durned hog done broke out of her pen last week and we ain't seed her since."

Charles nodded, as though this all made perfect sense. "I... I see," he managed, faintly, trying not to think about the Turkey that the 4077th would be sitting down to right about now.

"Anyhows, 'sall pig ain't it?" said Dupree, tucking into his own repast with a cheerfulness that appeared to be genuine, "Ham, spam - whatever."

"Oh, and here's Stevens with the wine," cried Wheatley, as the corporal struggled into the tent, lugging a crate. "I hear you're something of a connoisseur, Major? Stevens - serve Doctor Winchester first!"

"Yes, sir." Stevens took one of the bottles out of the crate and produced a corkscrew from his top pocket. A moment later, he poured a measure of white wine into the tin cup in front of Charles, and stood back. 

Charles realised everyone was waiting for him to taste it, and with trepidation he picked up his cup and sniffed the contents. The oily aroma that assailed his nostrils almost made him gag, but he remembered he was a guest, bit back the comment he was about to make on serving it warm, and took the tiniest sip he could manage.. 

"Ah. Liebfraumilch," he said, feigning a smile. "Please, corporal, do pass it round." Adding, in an undertone, "Share the burden, for God's sake!"

"How bad is it?" muttered Margaret, who was seated on his left.

"I'd rather drink from the Still in the Swamp," he muttered back, wondering whether he would ever be rid of the taste.

"Ouch!" she said, making a face to show she'd got the message.  

"So, Major," said Parker, who had sat down opposite him, "You're a wine lover." 

It seemed to Charles that she had put more emphasis on the word 'lover' than was strictly necessary, and he found himself wishing he wasn't trapped between Margaret and the Colonel. "I prefer the term 'connoisseur'," he said, pretending an interest in what was on his tray.

"Of course," said Parker, smoothly, leaning across the table toward him, "And... what else are you interested in?"

Charles glanced at Margaret, hoping she might help, but to judge from the smirk on her face, she was enjoying his discomfort far too much to come to his rescue. Besides, if the plan they'd discussed when she'd brought him Lorraine's message was to work, he had to try not to recoil from the attentions of the Praying Mantis opposite.

"Why, the Major likes that there classical music," said Dupree, pointing his knife at Charles, "Listens to it all the time, doncha Chas?"

"Charles," growled Charles.

"_Really, _Charles?" said Parker, propping her chin on a hand, and smiling across at him, "I adore that Rachmaninov piece – you know, the variation on... something-or-other. They use it in films a lot?"

Charles sighed. "_Variation on a Theme of Paganini,_" he offered.

"That's the one!" said Parker, clapping her hands, "They used it in _Brief Encounter."_

He opened his mouth to correct her, decided it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, he was supposed to be making nice, wasn't he?

"How gratifying to meet someone who appreciates good music," he said, as sincerely as he could manage. "Of course, you really need to go a live concert to truly appreciate the richness of such compositions, but that's an impossibility out here, where there isn't so much as a decent piano."

"Oh, the one we've got in the OC isn't too bad," said Parker. She gave him another one of her predatory smiles. "So... do you play at all, Charles?" she asked. As she spoke, he felt the pressure of her foot against his leg, and he had to will himself not to move it away.

"Not..."  he started. It came out as a rather distressed squeak, and he cleared his throat and started again. "Not as well as I would like," he replied adding, "Besides, if I'm playing the piano, I can't dance."

"Oh, you dance?" She sounded pleased.

"Dance? I taught St Vitus," he retorted. 

Parker laughed. "I hope you'll join us in the Officers' Club then?" she said, getting to her feet.

"Why not?" said Charles, "Especially if you can guarantee that your prettiest nurses will be there too."

He gave Margaret his best 'take the hint' look and, as he exited the tent, he heard her seize on the opening he'd just handed her: 

"You know, you should get some of the competition transferred out," she said, quietly, linking an arm through Judy's as they followed him outside. "I mean - not to suggest that you're not attractive, but why make life more difficult for yourself?"

As they reached the Officers' Club, Charles stopped, ushered the women ahead of him, and jerked a thumb in the direction of the latrines. "I'll be with you in a minute," he said, "You go right ahead."

"Hey, I'll have a drink waiting for you, Charles" said Parker, "What'll you have?"

"My usual," he replied, "A grape ne-hi." Out the corner of his eye he could see Margaret smother a grin with her hand, and gave her a warning glance as he added, firmly, "With ice."

Margaret nodded, obviously having got the message. "See you later then, Charles," she said and, to his relief, drew Major Parker into the OC with her.

Dodging Dupree, whom he spotted weaving toward the club from the direction of the Mess Tent, Charles finally reached his quarters, and closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. It was dark, but before he could find the light switch, someone soft and warm put her arms around him and kissed him, and he recognised Lorraine's perfume.

"Mmm, hello," he murmured, returning the kiss.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," she said, "I thought you were never going to get rid of her!"

"You mean the inestimable Major Parker?" he said, grinning, "For a while there, _I_ didn't think I was ever going to get rid of her either."

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see Lorraine now as she went across to the little table in the corner and picked up a bottle.

"Bordeaux," she said, pouring it into two glasses, "Only bottle I could lay my hands on at short notice, and I won't tell you what it cost me in exchange, but I knew you'd like it."

"Thanks!" He moved across the tent to take his glass, clinked it gently against hers. "Happy Thanksgiving."

* * * * * 

"Hey Major?" The knock on the door was accompanied by Major Parker's unmistakeable voice. "Charles, you in there? Where the hell'd you disappear to?"

"I don't believe it," muttered Charles, who was in the process of unlacing Lorraine's boots, while she sat with her legs across his lap and nuzzled his right ear.

"Keep quiet, she'll go away," she whispered.

"Yes, but..."  It was no use, the doctor in him had to know: "Is there a problem with my patient, Major?" he called.

"Oh, you _are_ in there! No – no, 'sno problem. I just – uh – I've still got your ne-hi, y'know? Course, it's a little warm..."

"Tell her I've got a bit higher than your knee," Lorraine giggled in his ear, "And it's a lot more than warm!"

"Shh!" he warned her, laughing, "She'll hear you!"

"What was that, Major?" called Parker.

"Nothing! I...uh...had a headache," he called back, "So I decided I'd better lie down."

Lorraine snorted with suppressed laughter, and buried her face against his shoulder in a vain attempt to remain quiet.

Parker though had obviously heard. "Well, if that's Captain Anderson you're lying down _with_, you can tell her from me that she'll be shipping out of here day after tomorrow."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he shouted, gallantly, "But if I see her, I'll tell her."

"You do that!"

Footsteps marched off, stumbled, resumed, and retreated across the compound in the direction of Parker's own tent.

"Aha! It worked!" said Charles, gleefully, giving Lorraine a hug before resuming his unlacings where he had left off.

"Worked? What worked?"

"The little plot Margaret and I hatched," he said, "Parker's approving your transfer because she doesn't like the competition."

"You _angel_," she sighed, kissing his cheek, and starting on a few unfastenings of her own, "You know I put in for the military hospital in Seoul?"

"Margaret told me," he murmured, dropping her boots to the floor and drawing her down onto the cot with him as he lay back, "And I have to tell _you_ that I get over to Seoul occasionally too."

"Good," she murmured, "Now, how can I ever thank you for getting me re-assigned?"

He grinned, and tangled his fingers in her hair. "I'll think of something," he said.

* * * * * 

"Well, Major," said Colonel Wheatley, shaking Charles' hand as they stood by the jeep in the compound, "I'd like to thank you very much on behalf of our entire medical staff. It's been an education."

Margaret heard Lorraine, behind her, mutter, "Sure has!" and bit down hard on her lip to keep her giggles at bay.

"Major Houlihan – always a pleasure," said the Colonel.

"So they say." The snide whisper was Parker's, Margaret knew, but she chose to ignore it. After all, she'd already had the fun of seeing Parker's barely-concealed fury over Lorraine's smug expression at breakfast, and that alone had been worth the trip.

With a last wave at her smiling friend, Margaret climbed into the jeep and settled herself into the passenger seat. "Home, James," she quipped, lightly.

"When I _am_ home, that's _my_ line," Charles replied, stifling a yawn behind his hand and starting the engine. "Do you think they'll have saved us a turkey sandwich?"

"Those vultures? We'll be lucky if there's so much as a wishbone left!" she said. A moment later she was almost pitched out of her seat as he let out the clutch and stepped on the accelerator. Cursing, she straightened her helmet and braced a foot against the dashboard.

"Sorry." Charles changed gear, yawned again, and glanced across at her, "Sticky clutch."

"Really?" she said, unable to resist adding, with a knowing smile, "No wonder you're so tired!"

"Margaret!" 

He was actually blushing, and she realised he was not going to come back at her with the sort of brash response she'd have expected from Pierce. She found it quite refreshing - endearing even, not that she was likely to let him know that. "Charles, you are an officer and a gentleman," she conceded, "But if this jeep gives one more kangaroo hop, I'm going to forget I'm a lady. Clear?"

"Do _you_ want to drive?" he suggested, wrestling with the wheel as the jeep hit a pothole, "I can ride in back and take a nap."

"Oh, keep going," she said, realising that she'd probably get her wrists broken if she tried to steer over the ruts, "You can rest all you like when we get back. It's not as though there's anything happening at the 4077th - is it?"

**_The End_**


End file.
